..........................

      He curled up tighter, drawing the rough blanket over his head. Much better.Methos resisted joining the brothers in the cavernous hall; his cubicle was more tohis liking at the moment. Close, comfortable, window to the rising sun, private. Hismat, his blanket, his plate, cup, his writings. All was close at hand, never far fromhis grasp.

      Sunlight now poured into his room, his mat strategically placed to gather what heat the winter sun gave. Methos warmed quickly and dared to stretch sore muscles from the cold night. Felt so good! He jumped at a low knock on his wooden door and stood instantly, hugging himself more from consternation than from the cold. He waited in silence, content to allow the intruder time to become frustrated and leave him in peace. He jumped again at the light rap. Why would this brother not desist?

      Curiosity finally won him over, and he opened the eye-slit slowly, standing to the side so that he might not be visible to the intruder. Methos surveyed the hoodedfigure, searching for his identity. The brother finally lifted his face and herecognized him instantly. But why was the head scribe rapping on his door beforemorning vespers or meal? The man stared back patiently, waiting for the door toopen. Methos closed the eye slat, picked up his plate and cup, and opened his door.

      Rather than inviting Brother Sebastian into his room, Methos stepped out into the hall and closed his door behind him. He nodded his head down the hall, and Brother Sebastian bowed in return, smiling, and walked beside him. A single bellpeeled from the courtyard, muted by the heavy stone of the walls, announcing theend of vespers and the beginning of their meal. It would be the only sound until theabbott began his meal, then the brothers and guests could start quiet conversation.

      Methos pulled his hood from his robe down over his head and watched his own feet as they walked into the dining area. It was a cavernous two story room, the windows high on the second story. He shivered again, pulling his elbows tightagainst his sides. The abbott promised him the memories would fade with eachpassing day, but taking every meal in this huge room was like torture. He grimacedas he searched for a seat for himself and the brother who shadowed him, and almostran to a table where there was room. He quickly sat his plate down and huddled
close to the table.

      Brother Sebastian watched in sorrow as the young man sat, bent almost at the waist. What pain this one had endured! And to be locked away for so many years in such a small. . .well, as the abbott had explained, no wonder the dining hall was a fearsome sight. And he was a writer; a highly prolific and skilled one, according to reports from the brothers. Perhaps a scribe's cubicle lined with journals would suit him, help lure him out of his despair. The young man was in his tenth year at the monastery, and had yet to step outside the walls. And had yet to tell anyone hisname.

      The monastery would have been timeless in its truest essence, yet with a handful of promising scribes, their work was often requested from Rome. And on occasion, a deadline was imposed, but never strictly, and enforcement was not threatening. Still, the expectation from their leaders was enough motivation. Brother Sebastian was under such a deadline now; so much to do!, as he pointed out to the abbott. Possibly the young man would share his gift and heal at the same time.

      Brother Sebastian sat on the bench next to the man and scooted close to him, so that their arms were touching. He could feel the other man tense as the contact was made, then relax as he accepted the closeness. The young man kept his face down,still covered with his hood, but Brother Sebastian could feel his piercing gaze turnedon him. Finally, the food was distributed, the meal was blessed and the abbott started their day, God is good, my brothers, for we eat another day.” The brothersstarted passing the food, while light conversation in low tones began.

      “I am pleased you joined us for a meal,” Brother Sebastian began in a whisper,passing a bowl to his cowed neighbor.

      “I was . . .hungry this morning,” Methos replied, searching for the correct way to address the brother.

      “Yes, I imagine so,” Brother Sebastian replied. “Is your room comfortable?”

      He heard the young man's sharp intake of air and he turned his head sharply, his hood falling back as he faced the scribe. “I do not . . .I am not ready to leave!” Methos said it too loudly in his panic, and the room grew silent, eyes turned toward him.

      Brother Sebastian watched the young man's face grow pale and he tried to rise, but he caught his shoulders. “No, no! You misunderstand! You are welcome with us for as long as you or anyone need stay,” Brother Sebastian said reassuringly, pulling him back to the bench. Conversation was rising again as the scrutiny diminished. “I merely wished to offer you a position as a scribe, wherein use of another room would come to you.”

      Methos sat staring at the man, his eyes glazed over. He shook his head and blinked, finally back in the right time, the now. Brother Sebastian still held him by the shoulders and he shrugged almost imperceptibly, but it was enough for the man to notice, and he withdrew his grasp. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “You are very kind to offer me a position,” Methos began.

      “Here, our meal grows cold,” Brother Sebastian interrupted, sensing rejection.“We have much interesting work to be done, and I am told you are quite a scholar.”He turned to his plate and began to eat.

      Methos watched him closely as he began his meal, not tasting the food. He rarely did. It was not necessary for his survival right now. This Brother Sebastian was older than the majority of the brothers, perhaps in his fifties. Methos smiled, realizing he was only 2,550 years older than him, and was still called “the youngman,” for want of a name. He realized the brother was awaiting a response fromhim. “I keep a journal,” he replied in a whisper.

      “I am told you write volumes in a single sitting,” Brother Sebastian commented.“The brothers can hear your scratchings through the night and day.”

      Methos simply nodded, trying to finish his meal quickly. Was it just ten years past since he had stumbled into this oasis in the middle of what he could only refer to as hell? These men bathed him, fed him, clothed him, and let him be. It was after three years that the abbott queried if he required confession, absolution, or simply conversation; Methos reluctantly gave him a short description of his life over thepast 20 years, and the Abbott requested nothing more from him. He knew he wasoften the subject of their discussions, but never considered halting or enlighteningthem further.

      “Many of our scribes never leave their cubicles for meals,” Brother Sebastiansaid thoughtfully.

      Methos smiled. He was good, this one! Tempting him with private meals, indeed. “You have never laid eyes on my writing,” Methos whispered in return. “How can you judge an unknown quantity?”

      Oh, he was so close!, Brother Sebastian thought. “Would you welcome myscrutiny of your journal?”

      “No,” Methos said without thought. “I am sorry,” he stammered. “I meant, they are my personal thoughts. I do not wish them to be read.”

      “Then, perhaps, if I were to bring you a tome, and you were to copy it, I could get a sense of your worth,” Brother Sebastian replied.

      “Perhaps,” Methos said, smiling to his plate. “Why do I feel as if you knew my answer before I spoke it?”

      Brother Sebastian chuckled. “How could I know something so mysterious asthat?”

      Methos turned and looked at him, looking deeply into the gray eyes, surroundedby the wrinkles of age. He looked hard, not breaking the intensity until the otherman looked away. “Indeed,” he replied, whispering again. “I am finished.” He tookup his plate and rose from the table, walking quickly to the water basins, and notbothering to stop and dry them, almost ran from the room.

      The Abbott caught Brother Sebastian’s eye, and asked an unspoken questionwith a raised eyebrow. Brother Sebastian bowed his head, then raised it with a smileand shrugged lightly, nodding. The Abbott nodded once, and went back to thisconversation.

      It was the most anyone had ever heard the young man speak in seven years.

            Methos hurried out of the room lost in thought. He followed a hallway as he followed the memories down into himself, not seeing his destination. Ten years Ihave spent here; to Brother Sebastian, a substantial part of his life. Mortal timemeans so little to me, he thought, rounding another corner, the stones all even cut,all even colored, no substantial difference from the others. He stopped and stared at the wall. A few cracks were visible in the work, but they were polished so smooth after years of fanatical cleansing. A hard, cold unforgiving surface was the result. He recognized the effort the brothers made to cleanse the building daily. If only his soul were made of such stuff.

      He turned away and continued walking down the corridor toward a window just a few feet away. Methos stopped at the window and clutched his wooden bowl close to this chest as he regarded the courtyard of the monastery. Open to the sky, the garden grew well in the spring and summer. Benches interspersed the walkwaysthrough the gardens; now, it was a desolate place, the dirt and browning grassfrosted from the evening cold. He watched as Brother Sebastian made his way across the courtyard to the wing of the scribes. While the chapel held gorgeous stained glass work, it was the scribes’ rooms that held the most beautiful. They were small, intricate pieces of hand-made rapture. Methos remembered a time watching an artisan cut the glass, the deadly sharp edges tamed with blistering hot iron. Each piece fitted lovingly into the pattern to create amazing scenes.

      How tempting! To be immersed in such beauty again, to be surrounded with the smell of the fresh ink and the feel of the delicate pages. How alluring, to sink into volumes upon volumes of work. Oh, private meals again! Methos remembered a night he carefully slunk into the scribes’ rooms to investigate. Such treasures lay at their fingertips; such lovely work these mortals performed. And Brother Sebastian was the finest of the lot. His art was so delicate and com- plicated that Methos had wept silently that night. All night. And the next day, he still grieved for the many years he could not.

      Methos stiffened as he heard footsteps nearing him at the window. He suddenlyrealized where the hallway he chose lead - to the chapel. The abbott, leading a group of the men toward their meeting, stopped the entourage and carefully addressed him, “Young Man, we would be blessed with your attendance this day.”

      Methos did not turn from the window. He raised his hood and lowered his head. “Thank you. I will do as you request,” he whispered in return.

      The abbott stood stunned, then regained his composure. He nodded in return  and continued the procession. Methos waited and joined the back of the line. He watched the robed figures’ backs as they entered the richly adorned chapel, a peculiarity for such a small order. Concentrate on the men, do not think of the room, he told himself. Remember the chant, remember the chant, remember the... windows, the beautiful glass full of colors so big so high to the top, the soaring ceiling with buttresses that God himself could have only designed. So . . . open, the walls were so far away, the room was too big, he couldn't feel the walls near him and the door was not close!

      The abbott turned immediately as he lead the brothers into the room. Just some four years past, the young man bravely entered the chapel, only to run like a rabbit back to his warren. He would not take food for days. Finally, worn and bedraggled,he showed himself again. This time, the abbott was prepared. He walked close to the young man and tried to fill his sight with his face. “Come, young one, and sitamongst us,” he offered, trying to hold the shaking man. He lead him to the middleof the group, so that he would be surrounded by the brothers. The abbott chose toplace him between two of the stronger men, and they moved closer to him, offeringtheir arms for support.

      Methos clamped his eyes shut as the abbott guided him, and only opened them when he felt the men at both of his sides. He found a robed head in front of him and began to memorize the weave in the rough cloth. The service began, and he tried to control his ragged breathing in time with the prayers. It might work, he thought. He began to mumble the prayers lightly under his breath, trying to catch the cadence,trying to gain the rhythm with the men. The sun caught the corner of the starwindow above the alter, and it glowed a warm orange. It caught his eye, drawing hisconcentration to the beauty above, and the high, high ceilings. He teetered suddenly, and the brother on his left stepped closer and steadied him, his arm around his waist.

      “Brother, can you look at me?,” the man whispered in his ear.

      Methos’ eyes were locked at the glass, the colors beginning to bloom as the sun crept across the sky, triggering the colors to awaken. He shuddered, and pulled his gaze back. He searched for the source of the voice and found deep brown eyesstaring into his. Locking onto them for support, he nodded his head.

      “Pray with me,” the brother whispered, not turning away.

      Methos shuddered, a long-dead memory suddenly resurfacing. He jumped in the brothers grip, and jumped again. No! Not again, not after a thousand years! “Helpme!,” he whispered frantically to the man. He turned quickly to his right andreached out his hand to the brother already near. The man was older, balding, witha gentle face. Methos tried to lose himself in the expression, and succeeded. Hewatched the man's thin lips, forcing his own into motion. Move, move, stop, move.

      The abbott watched with concern, watched the torrent of emotion on the young man's face as it changed from intense stress, to concentrated effort, suddenly sliding into rapture, then into abject terror, and finally into a modicum of control. He was pouring every ounce of effort into this, and the abbott couldn't help but wonder why. The brotherhood, at the advice of the abbott, had been lenient with this one. While he could not nor would not share with them his confession, the abbott didconvey to the brotherhood the severity of the man's suffering, and his need forconsideration. They gave it gladly, never questioning the idiosyncrasies or theabbot's request.

      Methos relaxed his grip on the brother as the service ended. He'd done it. He'd actually stayed in the open for an hour. He swallowed hard. “Thank you,” hewhispered to the man, noticing for the first time the brother had tears in his eyes. He bowed his head deeply and stood waiting to leave the room, ignoring the others around him. He practically stepped on the man in front of him as they left thechapel, and he almost ran from the place.

      Instead of stopping at his door, Methos hurried on past toward the scribe's wing. The impatience of mortality must be creeping up on me, he thought as he neared the door leading to library. He opened the wooden door slowly, attempting not to shatter the quiet. Brothers sat about the room, respectfully studying their documents. He walked through the table to the short hallway in the back, which opened to the scribe's rooms.

      Brother Sebastian looked up from his table to see the young man walking slowly toward him, his face turned toward the floor. He rose to greet him, noticing theflushed cheeks. “Are you well, young one?,” Brother Sebastian asked in concern.

      Methos looked away shyly. “Yes, thank you. I have just come from the chapel,and I was wondering if there was work for me?,” he whispered hurriedly, glancingaround the room.

      “How marvelous!,” Brother Sebastian exclaimed quietly. “If you like, take this back to your room and copy it. Bring it to me when you are finished, and we shall see if we have work for you.” He handed the young man a stack of papers.

      Methos held them gingerly. “I will return them by morn,” he said, and turned to leave.

      “Young man!,” Brother Sebastian said, chuckling. “Even I could not do thiswork in two days hence.”

      Methos met the brother's smiling eyes, and returned it with a tight lipped frown. “I will return them by morn, and I wish the room with the window of the Fall.” He turned abruptly and left, not waiting for a reply.

      Brother Sebastian stood staring after the young man. He realized he believedthat the man could somehow accomplish the work by morn, but did not understandwhy he felt this. He sat down at this table, puzzling over the young one’s request.Obviously, he had visited these rooms without his knowledge. The room he requested was occupied, but the scribe was never happy with it. In fact, none of the scribes enjoyed the room. It was smaller than most, a bit darker, and the stained glass art was not considered as beautiful as most. Not because of it’s workmanship - the skill involved to create it was second to none. But the subject matter dismayed many of the brothers. And the enigmatic youngster with no name, who could barely stomach the open places and was prolific beyond imagination, requested it. He shook his head slowly. Brother Sebastian bowed his head and prayed for guidance.

      Brother Sebastian stood silently outside the young man's door, his ears training. The young one had not appeared that morning as he had promised; nor had he appeared for any meals during the day. Brother Sebastian closed his eyes, hoping to rid himself of any extra sensory input, and was rewarded with soft scratching. It was as he suspected; the young man was working round the clock to finish the manuscript. He heard a soft rustle and opened his eyes.

      The Abbott stood before him, an eyebrow cocked heavenward. Brother Sebastian bowed slightly in acknowledgment. The Abbott turned his eyes toward the closed door, then returned his gaze to the scribe, directing him to follow. When the men were safely out of earshot, the Abbott whispered quietly, “I am anxiously awaiting an audience with you both.”

      Brother Sebastian nodded. “I shall bring him.”

      “This is necessary,” the Abbott reminded him.

      “I agree, but so soon?,” Brother Sebastian replied.

      “I believe we have been patient,” the Abbott whispered, turning his eyes toward the chapel as the bells announced the evening Vespers. He lowered his head and walked down the hall. Brother Sebastian turned to look at the closed door, thenfollowed his leader to the service. His mind wondered from the verses as heconsidered the young man who spent most of a decade locked away on his ownvolition. He truly did not wish to know what brought the man to this state of being,but was apprehensive of his return to the outside world.

      When the Abbot discovered the young man's new interest, he called for the head scribe immediately. He was adamant that the young one would not just act as a scribe; he would become a scribe, adhering to the ways of the order. For ten years he remained safe in the cocoon of his room and his own company; the brotherhoodwas patient, and would suffer long with him. But if he wished to venture into theworld of the literary, then he would be required to venture into their world also.

      Brother Sebastian saw the necessity, but wondered aloud if the young manwould. He had been allowed to live as he wished, more or less. Could he conform?Or would he simply leave the brotherhood? Of course, the brotherhood wouldfunction well without him. Another room would be free for others in need. But howcould they turn away one in such need? How would their God judge them forrefusing to serve one so desperate for their care?

      The two debated into their siesta, and finally the Abbott made his decree. The destiny of the young one’s soul could only be established by himself - if he chose to leave the brother- hood, then so be it. Sanctuary had been given freely, and nothing asked in return. The brothers would gladly assist in his healing, but he must also be willing to heal himself. Now, he must be prepared to give as the order had.

      Brother Sebastian stifled a yawn as he walked toward his chamber at the finish of Compline. An orange glow from the fallen sun streamed through the courtyardand illuminated the white stones of the hallway. The color of golden leaves on theground, he mused, a rich color of the fruits of the summer past. He pondered the mix of ink he must attempt in the morn to achieve this shade; a glorious addition to his work at hand. He stopped opposite a window, where the light was strongest, and inspected the deepening burnt orange on a raised hand. He sensed motion andturned toward the end of the hall, toward his chamber door and the entrance to thelibrary.

      A brother stood outside his door, head lowered, arms clutched close, backstooped. The man slowly moved forward, stopping well short of the scribe. He slowly pulled his hood back and straightened to stand tall. He held out his arms, full of sheaves of paper. Brother Sebastian smiled. “You have finished?”

      Methos nodded. “I regret that I intruded upon your privacy,” he whispered.“While I have finished, it was not within the time I promised. I apologize for theinconvenience I have caused you, and will bother you no more.”

      “Nonetheless, may I inspect your work before you return to your chamber?,”Brother Sebastian said, eagerly taking the proffered work. He opened the libraryentrance, and Methos followed him into the growing darkness. Arriving at thescribe's table, he lit a wick and sat down to critique the young one’s talent.

      Methos stood watching for what seemed an eternity; he finally realized the man was going to inspect every word, which would occupy the man for longer than he wanted to stand over his shoulder. He began to wonder about the room, daring tolook at some of the works in progress, almost pressing his long nose into the pages in the growing darkness. He wondered into the west wing, where the failing light was  strongest, and realized he was standing in the room he hoped to occupy, the room with the intricate stained glass.

      The table was bare in the room, the inks and quills cleaned and organized.Methos smiled. The room’s occupant had obviously taken his personal effects andvacated, readying it for its new occupant, him. He sat at the desk, twisting on the tall stool, testing it for comfort and height. He turned and looked at the glass window, the darkness adding to the ominous images in front of him. The serpent’s twisting form caused a black spiral down through the artist’s garden, cutting the picture in half.

      “Your work is extraordinary,” Brother Sebastian said aloud, startling him.

      “I value your opinion, Brother,” Methos replied, turning from the window.“May I occupy these rooms, then?”

      “That is a decision only you may make,” Brother Sebastian said, placing the papers on the desk. “These speak highly of the artisan wishing to free itself, and the Order will benefit from your enterprise. But the Abbott wishes that you also benefit from ours.”

      Methos’ brow creased in confusion. “I . . . I am not sure what it is you are asking of me.”

      “It is time, young one,” Brother Sebastian said, coming close to grasp Methos’ shoulder. “It is time for you to heal. Whatever pain you have been subjected to, you  must now accept it and begin to forgive.”

      Methos rose quickly and pressed himself into the corner of the room, face toward the window. “There is no one to forgive,” he whispered harshly.

      “Then how simple it shall be to sit with the other scribes during the day’sprayers,” Brother Sebastian said, moving to sit on the empty stool.

      Methos swallowed hard. “Why may I not simply do the work for you, come and go as I’ve been allowed in the past?”

      “We would be selfish, young man,” Brother Sebastian said in explanation,folding his arms. “If the order were to gain from your knowledge and craftsmanship,and not attempt to ameliorate your situation, then the Lord would surely frown upon us. Why, our vines might wither and crumble into dust!”

      Methos turned a worried face to the smiling scribe. “I would be required to attend all services?,” he asked. Brother Sebastian nodded mutely. “But I would be given these rooms, and allowed to toil for you?” Brother Sebastian nodded again. He turned away and studied the glass, the colors yellowed and muted from the candlelight. He frowned. In this light, the glass was flat, lifeless. But he could recallwith precision the beauty of the glass with the afternoon sun gleaming through it,bringing it to life. “If I chose to work through siesta, would I be sanctioned?”Brother Sebastian studied his feet, and slowly shook his head. Methos nodded, andreturned to study the window. “I will do as the Abbott requests,” he said softly.

      Brother Sebastian chuckled. “You are very perceptive,” he said. “And what led you to believe these were not my prerequisites?”

      It was Methos’ turn to smile. “It is not the first time the Abbott has attempted to draw me into his fold,” he said quietly.

      Brother Sebastian nodded. “You cannot fault him for concern for your well- being, young one.” The men were silent for a time, both lost in thought. Brother  Sebastian finally rose, moving to face Methos at the window. “But I do have one requirement, and I will seek your forgiveness now before I ask it of you.”

      Methos looked at the man, who waited for his approval. There were no schemeslurking behind his kind eyes; no hidden affairs to suddenly reach out and snare him.He could not find the words, so simply nodded.

      Brother Sebastian accepted his silent consent, and took a deep breath. “Young man, I can address you as Brother until the end of our days, if I must,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “But I am willing to plead with you to share your name withme.”

      Methos blinked quickly, caught unawares by the question. He hugged himselftighter, cursing himself for allowing this moment to come before he was prepared.He looked at the door, feeling the panic begin, but Brother Sebastian followed hisgaze and caught his arm. “Please,” he whispered. “For both our sakes. You must.”He shook him slightly, bringing his eyes away from the door to his own.

      The candle flame flickered and sputtered in the building wax pool, causing a brief surge to light the room. Methos saw the movement of the light on the windowout of the corner of his eye and felt a spark within him, making him shudder. Heopened his mouth, trying to speak, but only a groan slipped out. Brother Sebastiantightened his grip. “You are strong enough now, Brother. Please, try again.” Methos looked at him, desperation passing onto his face. “Say it to yourself, then say it aloud. Take your time.”

      Methos nodded slowly and closed his eyes. Brother Sebastian watched asresignation slowly passed over the young man's face, then anguish, and then heloosened his grip. The young man's eyes had opened, but in those few shortmoments, the man had been transformed. Gone was the naiveté of the innocent,tortured soul. He saw in the eyes before him a man of advanced years, made cold by the harshness of the world, worn by the extreme pain of his life.

      “I am Adam,” Methos rasped.

      He sighed, shaking his head at his ruminations. The Abbott truly did want the young man to come out of his prison, and while he would never admit his sin toBrother Sebastian, or anyone else but God for that matter, he knew the man was anaccomplished scribe. His art would be praised to the tops of the finest cathedrals, and that concerned him deeply. Rome would not be pleased if they demanded of him an audience that he could not physically attend. And Rome would not be pleased todiscover his long sojourn at the monastery, for that matter.

      He shook his head as he entered the chapel, the brotherhood gathered in the candle-lit gloom of the winter morning. A courier was due any day, and a replywould be expected. Perhaps he could prolong the announcement. . .The Abbotturned and faced the brotherhood, nodding to the brethren a good morn andstopped, staring at the third row. There, sitting amongst the scribes, huddledpainfully into a ball, was the young man. At Matins? He looked at BrotherSebastian, who sat directly to the young man's right. The lead scribe smiled simply,then turned his concern back to his neighbor, who sat motionless, his face to thefloor.

      The Abbott wanted to sing to the rafters, but instantly caught the exclamation in his throat. Any attention heaped on the man would certainly send him sprintingdown the hallway. He attempted to keep the joy from his voice as he began theservice, but gave up, enjoying the thrill of the moment.

      Brother Sebastian sat close to Brother Adam, whispering to him the order of the  service. He had rapped softly at the man's door, then a bit firmer, awakening him to  attend Matins. Brother Adam opened the door with a jerk and a sour expression, but  joined him nonetheless. The young man had quickly thrown his hood over hisrumpled shoulder-length hair and bowed his head deeply. Brother Sebastian was onguard as they entered the chapel, quickly coming to his aid as his feet faltered. Heguided him quickly to his new place with the scribes and began the whisperedmonologue, attempting to give his brother a distraction from his fear.

      Methos sat with closed eyes, listening intently to his superior recanting the words and their importance. He yawned, thankful for the large habit to hide his lethargy;he hated mornings, preferring the long silence of late night for activity. While therepetition of the prayers would become tedious, he most regretted losing hisnocturnal privacy, for if he wished to write, he would certainly require rest. EvenImmortals must sleep, he thought, grinning. He suddenly remembered Silas’momentous snores, rumbling through the desert stillness, waking Kronos on manyoccasions. It’s a wonder he did not take Silas’ head, Methos thought sadly at thejumble of memories, and started to tremble.

      Brother Sebastian scooted closer on the bench and leaned down to try to see the man's face. His brow creased in concern when he saw the tears sliding downBrother Adam’s face. Should he take the man and leave the service? He decidedagainst it, but was thankful that they must rise for the next session. He helped theyoung man to his feet and encouraged him to breath deeply. “Repeat the words withme, Brother Adam,” he implored. He felt the man flinch, but the young man closedhis eyes tightly and began the recitation.

      The Abbott watched the situation closely, disturbed at the sight of the man in such grief. With Lauds nearing, he made a decision. He motioned for one of hiscouncilors to come forward and gave him instructions to conduct in his place. Hethen caught Brother Sebastian’s gaze and instructed him to bring the young man foran audience. Matins then complete, the Abbott departed, Brother Sebastian waitinga short time to follow with his ward.

      The moment they exited the drafty chapel, Methos straightened his long frame and rolled his shoulders, trying to stretch the cramps loose. He did not bother to wipe the tears from his eyes. While he knew their destination, he allowed BrotherSebastian to lead him, content to live in his memories for a time.

      The Abbott stood behind his desk as they entered, a content smile upon his face. Methos pulled his hood back and sat in the proffered seat, Brother Sebastianstanding behind him. “I rejoice for this day’s arrival,” the Abbott said, opening hisarms. “Your presence this morning is more than an answer to my prayers.”

      Methos almost blushed at the Abbot's effusiveness. “Your care and concern has been more than any man could ever hope to receive,” he said quietly.

      “Brother Sebastian tells me of your scholarly interest. Is he a worthy scribe?,” the Abbott asked, settling behind his desk.

      Methos started to chuckle, surprising both men. “I believe you know thatanswer,” he said, a rueful grin on his face.

      “Brother Adam is a scribe of infinite talent,” Brother Sebastian said, eyeing his superior, who was studying his desk. “His toil will not go unnoticed.”

      The Abbott looked up from the desk to meet the hard gaze of the young man.“Your name is Adam?,” he queried in attempt to redirect the conversation. Theyoung man nodded his head almost imperceptibly, closing his eyes in confirmation.“I have grown so comfortable with simply referring to you as “the young man,” Ibelieve it shall require a period of adjustment to accept the idea.”

      Methos recognized the Abbot's attempt at levity, but the statement hammeredhome many years he wished he could shed. To be young again! “I must also adjust,”he managed to whisper, his throat suddenly dry.

      The morning bells began to chime slowly, announcing the sun rise and the call for the morning meal. A soft knock was heard at the door and a councilor opened it a crack, awaiting approval to enter. The Abbott waved him in; the brother walkedaround the desk and whispered quietly into his ear. The Abbott made his wishesknown, and the man was gone. “This is quite a day for us,” the Abbott declared,rising. “The courier from Rome has arrived, and brings guests. Shall we adjourn tobreakfast?”

      “You give your consent for Brother Adam to toil as a scribe in our order then?,” Brother Sebastian asked.

      “I not only give my consent, but I give you my blessing,” the Abbott said, leading the men to the door.

      Methos pulled his hood over his head for the walk to his rooms and back to breakfast. He awaited Brother Sebastian outside the library, and walked backglancing out the windows into the courtyard. A small group of brothers, their robesdusty from the ride, stood in the courtyard, unpacking their asses and horses. Two of the animals towed a wagon, and while the men stood in line to enter the dining hall, Methos watched as they gingerly unpacked a bulky object wrapped tightly in rich,heavy cloth. The brothers unpacked it themselves, ordering the stable hands away.He watched as they gingerly placed it on a small hand cart and wheeled it into theground floor of the monastery.

      A curious shape it was, he thought, as they entered the hall. He instinctivelyducked his head low, watching the now familiar robe in front of him lead him towhere the scribes took morning meals, if they wished. Brother Sebastian promisedhim private dinners, but asked that he join them for breakfast and an occasionalsupper. He sat awaiting the end of the prayer to begin the meal, and hungrilyattacked the food. So much time spent away from work, he thought. I could besketching the design right now, and laying the groundwork for the iron if it were notfor the blasted schedule. “There is a time and a season,” Brother Sebastian hadquoted him, and he attempted to accept the delay. If he learned one lesson from thislife, Methos decided, it would be patience.

      “You cannot hurry Prime by inhaling your breakfast,” Brother Sebastianpointed out.

      Methos harrumphed, chewing a piece of bread. “A snail could win a foot race against the pace here,” he whispered back in consternation.

      Brother Sebastian chuckled lightly, his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. “You are overly anxious to begin your labors, are you not?”

      Methos smiled thinly. “I suppose this is the price I must pay for attempting to embrace chaos in an ordered world.”

      Brother Sebastian nearly choked on his food. Methos looked at him in concern,but the man waved him away, grasping his cup and drinking deeply. “I cannotimagine anyone defining chaos in those terms,” he finally replied, breathing deeply,a smile on his face.

      Methos felt eyes upon him, and he turned to regard the other scribes who were listening intently to the conversation as they ate. He smiled wanly and returned to his meal, head bowed.

      Brother Sebastian felt his withdrawal, and shared a warning glance with the brothers. “I have two projects which require immediate attention, Brother Adam,”he said quietly, hoping to draw him out again. Methos simply looked at him, eyesdull. “You may have your choice of them, of course.”

      “And they would be?,” Methos asked, finishing his breakfast.

      “The Bridegroom’s Dinner, or Christ’s Temptation in the Desert,” BrotherSebastian explained. “The Dinner should be fairly straightforward, whereas. . .”

      “I choose the latter,” Methos said, interrupting him. He looked up as thebrothers began moving to the next service and noticed the morning rays comingthrough windows above his head, lighting the room; such a tall ceiling, the highwalls towering above him, the door so far away, so many bodies blocking him fromescape! He rose unconsciously and grabbed for his sword, pawing at air, confusionon his face, his feet tangling in the table, his bowl and cup falling to the floor with a crash.

      Brother Sebastian was already on his feet, trying to balance Brother Adambefore he fell. His right arm kept reaching for something, ah! A sword, he realized, asword that was not there. He noticed the young man's eyes were wild with fear andwhile he was slight, his strength was taking on proportions of the mad; BrotherAdam had lost the battle. The scribe prayed for forgiveness, and with all his strengthshoved him to the floor, face first.

      Methos struggled violently, then searched frantically for an escape. He could no longer see the ceiling, just the floor, so close. And the wall appeared closer, also. He could feel pressure on his back, but it was lessening. Words were being spoken to him, softly, and he concentrated to understand them.

      “Brother Adam? Please, brother, please speak,” Brother Sebastian waswhispering. The rest of the brotherhood had left the hall in respect, a councilorstaying behind to report to the Abbott who sat in consultation with the guests fromRome. “Are you hurt? Can you hear me?”

      “I am unhurt,” he whispered back. “I. . .I wish to return to my chamber.”

      Brother Sebastian closed his eyes and nodded. “Will you return with me to your new chamber, where you may begin your work?”

      “That I will do,” Methos said, pushing himself onto his knees. He covered his head with his hood, and Brother Sebastian helped him to stand on trembling legs.The councilor held out the bowl and cup to Brother Sebastian, but Methos took themquickly, clutching them tightly. “I regret that, that the brothers were subjected to . ..”

      The councilor waved a hand in dismissal and smiled, coming forward to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You have given more of yourself in one day thanin the past 3,000,” the man said smiling. “You surpass all expectation.” He left them,heading for the Abbot's library.

      Methos kept his eyes firmly planted to the ground, watching his toes peak out from the habit as Brother Sebastian guided him to the library. He took a deepbreath. He would need to steady himself for Terce, but also felt a deep relief when he remembered Reading followed. That’s it, Brother Adam, he told himself as theypassed his room. He felt a twinge of regret that he was not wrapped in his blanket,head hidden from the world, the walls close and comfortable. Work. I have work todo. What was it again, Brother Adam? Ah yes, he talked to himself as BrotherSebastian whispered to him reassuringly. Christ’s Temptation in the Desert.

      He began to straighten as they neared the library, the close walls of the hallway having the desired effect. As they entered the library, he was stretching his sore back muscles again, gaining full height. Brother Sebastian was still talking to him, but the room was speaking so much louder. The volumes of work here! It was silent now; empty of scholars. But Methos could imagine it, had seen the room full. The soft swish of pages turning; the muffled sound of men stepping lightly and breathingeven quieter. So much thought in one small space, that he imagined he could seewords and pictures in the air, surrounding each reader, floating off to brush againstothers, but never invading their neighbors’ study. The life the written word affordedhim was astounding, compared to it’s rude beginnings!

      Brother Sebastian was speaking to him more aggressively. “Brother Adam,please! You are frightening me.”

      Methos turned to regard the man, who stood looking at him, dumbfounded. “I apologize, brother,” he said, his voice deep with emotion. “I forget myself.”

      “You spoke to me, but I did not comprehend your words,” Brother Sebastiansaid, looking deeply into his eyes. “Whose words do you speak?”

      Methos regarded his companion thoughtfully, trying to push the images out of his mind. “I have learned different languages in my travels,” he explained, “perhaps I chose to speak one of them.” He turned his head and found his room, the deskbeckoning. He slid away from his companion and glided toward the sanctuary.

      Brother Sebastian allowed him to pass. He supposed it was a wonder the man could even function outside himself, but shook his head nonetheless. When BrotherAdam was speaking the other . . .language, his voice had changed with it, a hardenedquality creeping into the normally soft cadence. Hard, yes, would describe it, andsomething else. Regal, perhaps? Powerful, possibly. He imagined kings speaking theway the young man had. He shook his head in wonderment, and followed the man tohis room, attempting to prepare himself to give one such as this instruction.

      The Abbott listened carefully to the report concerning Brother Adam, and sent the councilor away with no instructions. Brother Sebastian had acted correctly it seemed, and would continue to, he was sure. His guests from Rome were activelyoccupying his attention at the moment, and until they had settled, would require hisattendance. The Abbott was not displeased by this turn of events, however.Traveling with the group was a most renowned musician, a brother whose choseninstrument was the harp. An odd man, he was informed. In truth, the Abbott had yetto meet the brother, who had retired with his harp the moment the group hadarrived. His position was as a healer to the brotherhood, and was neededimmediately; the Abbott knew whom he must exam first and foremost. There wasone who was in much greater need of his healing powers than of his musicalentertainment.

Matthew 4:1 tunc Iesus ductus est in desertum ab Spiritu ut temptaretur  a diabolo
    4:2 et cum ieiunasset quadraginta diebus et quadraginta noctibus  postea esuriit

       Methos’ stomach growled loudly as he finished the second verse. His fast was only into the third day, but Brother Sebastian was already watching him closely,reminding him to take those private meals. He smiled down at the sheaf in front ofhim, examining the page. Good, this work, he thought. An area of which I am wellfamiliar. I have felt at one with the desert, like the sands, shifted and buffeted by hot  winds. And have been called both savior and devil, embracing both if but for theexperiences.

       What beauty, the word, he thought as he loaded more of the auburn ink onto the quill. My, the times and tribulations I’ve shared through you, old friend. To see a scratching and a symbol mixed to become the very essence of a man! This, then,must be the definition of beauty. He chuckled softly the heavy door shut to thelibrary and the rest of the world. I could communicate with the peoples of the farside of this world in this manner, Methos speculated. I can manipulate this ink into a mark that represents an entire culture and what it holds sacred in the blink of an eye! He concentrated fully now on his hand, tensing his fingers and relaxing his wrist, executing a delicate final stroke to the letter “t.”

       Ah, finito. Now to the more complicated task, the challenge he craved for the past three days since starting the project. He gingerly  placed the sheaf aside to dry and began to gather the materials he would need: more quills, many more colors of ink - certainly more browns and golds than he now possessed. Cautious that his manuscript would not be misplaced by his movement, he opened the door to imploreBrother Sebastian for supplies. He silently closed the door behind him, and glidedhappily toward his superior’s station.

       Methos wrinkled his forehead when he overheard conversation coming fromBrother Sebastian’s desk. The brotherhood was at Siesta; he and the head scribechose to work through the afternoon rest, and while they remained quiet behindclosed doors, none complained or even realized. Methos stopped walking and beganlistening for the source of the companion. Ah, the Abbott! Would they be required toleave their work now? If so, he would be forced to reason with the man. Deciding thetone he would take, he started forward, but was halted when he caught his name inthe conversation.

       “Brother Adam is deep in his work as we speak.  He has refused food these three days while he completes the few chapters when the Son fasted,” Brother Sebastiansaid. “Do you not think this is catharsis enough?”

       “Brother Dimitri has talents beyond any healing we can provide,” the Abbottreplied. “He will not see or speak with any of the brothers  until after Sabbath.Surely you can convince the young man - Brother Adam,  to sit in counsel withhim?”

       “I used to think of him in those terms myself,” Brother Sebastian said. “But now, I have seen a quality in him that stripped those thoughts from me.”

       The Abbott sounded concerned. “What is this of which you speak?”

       “Do Nones not beckon?,” Methos said lightly, stepping around the corner. Both men turned their heads sharply at his entrance. “We found that rest eluded us, so here we are at work.”

       Brother Sebastian studied the floor, risking a glance at the Abbott, who cleared his throat. “While we praise your standards, rest is required for the mind,” he said haltingly. The afternoon bells began to chime a quiet tune to ease the brotherhoodfrom its reverie.  “Come, brothers, and let us meditate upon the value of our toils.”

       “I, for one, shall meditate upon the value of youth,” Methos said quietly, “and the wisdom of leaving it go.”

       “Surely most men would wish to return to their care-free days, before the harsh reality of the world came upon them like a yoke,” Brother Sebastian said smiling,rising to the conversation.

       “Yes, I suppose many would,” Methos replied softly, walking close to the scribe as they entered the hallway behind the Abbott.

       “And you do not count yourself among these men?,” the scribe asked. TheAbbott turned his head slightly, warning the men to silence. Brother Sebastianbowed his head in acceptance, and turned to look for Brother Adam’s response. Buthe was too late. The man's hood was already in place, face hidden, shouldersstooped. Brother Sebastian frowned. He hoped the fast of the previous days wouldend soon; Brother Adam was thin enough, and he feared for his health. Yet he alsorecognized the fervor growing in the man's eyes. He had witnessed the body fill withthe Glory as it emptied itself of the world’s poisons many times. I must meditatemore on this man's peril, and why the ages reflect so often in his eyes.

       As he pulled his hood into place, Brother Sebastian missed the slight tilt of the head on his companion, as Methos studied the brother's reaction.  He long ago realized many mortals could see past his facade of youth, and if he did not take steps soon, Brother Sebastian’s questions would become more insistent. He could notafford to alienate the man. As he studied the slightly worn hem on the Abbot'sgarment, Methos realized how comfortable he was in the scribe's company. It hadbeen a few centuries since he’d allowed a mortal the inconvenience of his friendship;he almost sighed aloud, and caught himself as they arrived at the chapel.Relationships with mortals ended so abruptly, so unexpectedly. Methos felt BrotherSebastian offer him his arm as they entered; he took it, closed his eyes, and losthimself for a few moments.

       In the desert; he was lost in the desert and dying. Possibly for the second time, he thought raggedly, as he felt his horse begin to stumble. Good horse, he thought absently, keep going boy. He wanted to tell the horse his feelings of gratitude for the animal’s existence, and how he wished the beast were immortal like him! Now, therewould be an interesting quickening, he thought, his throat too parched to laugh. Thesun was just dipping into the western sky, and the shadows of the vultures aboveman and horse criss-crossed the sand around him. He closed his eyes, wonderinghow quickly he would awaken; Methos shuddered at the thought of being thescavengers’ meal, then resurrecting to shoo them away. Then again, he thoughtmaniacally, immortal carrion had an interesting ring to it! Caspian would agree,damn the man. . .

       He opened his eyes for a moment, trying to shade them from the blistering sun. The horse had struggled its way up a dune and stood resting. Methos could feel its lungs straining for air, its heart beating rapidly. Poor horse, he thought. You are not worthy of such a fate. He wove side to side on the horse, barely able to sit theblankets with which he’d escaped. He felt the horse’s head rear up, barely saw theears pick up before he hit the ground, hard. Why does sand feel so soft until one fallsface first upon it?, he wondered idly. The familiar taste in his mouth made himcough until his stomach heaved.

       Methos lay upon the sand, holding his stomach, wishing death would hurry him upon his way, when he realized his horse was walking away. No! No, his horsealways stayed with him! He would be doomed to a hundred deaths before he reacheda tribe or village if the horse left him now. He struggled to rise, and was somehowlifted to his feet, but could not stay upon them. Once again, he found himself on thesand, but he was no longer alone. Men stood about him. Mortals. And he could smellthe water they carried!

       Methos opened his eyes carefully, keeping his eyes on the floor. BrotherSebastian sat beside him, their arms still linked, deep in meditation. He did not mindattending Nones. While it did somewhat interrupt his work, he found that meditationafforded him the opportunity to review his work and plan his upcoming activities.He realized the sun was shining brighter today; he could see faint color from thewindows on the floor in front of him. For three days, he had attended the meetingswithout incident, and felt relatively secure to inspect the room around him.

       As he started to raise his head, a faint tune came to his ears. He felt the goosebumps rise on his forearms, the hair on the back of his neck stand as theunmistakable song of immortality began to sing in his head. Methos couldn't thinkfor a moment. Another immortal, here? What could he do? He closed his eyes as thesong strengthened, spreading to the front of his forehead. He closed his eyes to thepressure, sensing another ancient presence. The young one’s merely tingled. But theold one’s, like Kronos, they were different. Incredible power lurked beneath thisone’s surface, the magnetism of the man's strength beckoning to him as only theallure of another immortal could.

       He breathed deeply, tensing his back. Brother Sebastian tightened the grip on his arm, but made no other move. Good, he thought, reason starting to flood his mind. He simply believes it is the fear returning. Little does he suspect, Methosthought. A quiet chant had started in the chapel as the party from Rome hadentered, and Methos found himself following it, letting his thoughts martialthemselves in the cadence. Holy Ground. You are on Holy Ground. This time hesighed and relaxed, but just a bit.

       Brother Sebastian noticed when the group of brothers from Rome entered how Brother Adam tensed beside him. He frowned, admonishing the Abbott and himselfsilently for allowing him to overhear the conversation concerning the counselor.Obviously the brother was alarmed at the prospect. He moved closer, and felt theyoung man relax a bit. As Brother Adam began to take up the chant, in a whisper,Brother Sebastian loosened his grip, but kept vigil, nonetheless.

       Methos could feel eyes upon his robed head. He knew Brother Sebastianwatched him casually during services, ready to assist him in a moment. But thesewere immortal eyes that beheld him now, boring into the top of his head. Damn! Theimmortal must have been in the group of travelers who had arrived but days before.He remembered watching them unload their goods that day, and in his excitement tobegin his work, actually forgot to spy upon their movements. Soft, Kronos would tellhim. You have grown careless.

       He took a deep breath as the chant ended, Nones giving way to work. Methosknew the time had arrived. He looked up slowly, turning to Brother Sebastian. Helooked at the man fondly, frowning slightly, and pulled back his hood. Turning, hecaught the form of a figure standing in the shafts of afternoon sunlight streamingthrough the summer window. Methos’ survival instincts surveyed the man andassimilated the information instantaneously - shorter in height, wider in girth, butrobes hid many secrets, his calculating voice told him. Longer hair than his, andfairer by the looks. He had died his first death a very young man - no more thaneighteen years could this man have lived the mortal life.

       Warm green eyes met his and lingered. Methos saw no challenge in them, saw no fear there. He did see intelligence and something else. . .something he could not quite name. Energy. Life? A mysterious quality. He felt Brother Sebastian move him off the pew into the aisle, and consequently, toward the immortal who stood before him bathed in light.

       The Abbott watched intently as the two men made an obvious connection. How interesting, these two. So many eccentric qualities they shared. So young, so muchexperience between the two of them. Brother Adam, his life so dark. BrotherDimitri, raised in the warmth of the Lord. Opposites, these men, he thought as heenjoined them to retreat into his chamber.

       Once safely behind his heavy door, the Abbott took refuge behind his desk,allowing the men to stand before him. He began the formalities, saying  “BrotherDimitri is traveling throughout our land, enriching our world with his music andfaith. We are blessed with his presence, talent and love.”  Brother Dimitri bowed to the Abbott, and bowed to Methos and Brother Sebastian. The Abbott continued,“Brother Sebastian has been a member of the order almost longer than myself, andis our scribe superior.” Brother Sebastian bowed deeply.

       Methos was fighting to contain his feelings. Oh, how long it had been since he had the luxury of another of his kind as companion, or what he considered to be a friend. Standing before him was a brother, literally, close to the same age as himself, whose eyes were beginning to betray his own anxiety. He wanted to scream at themen to leave them, to allow them the privacy he craved; he pursed his lips tighter,his knuckles white as he clasped his hands in front of him within the droopingsleeves of the robe.

       “Brother Dimitri, I am honored to present Brother Adam, a young butextraordinarily gifted scribe,” the Abbott said, ending his introductions. Methosclosed his eyes and nodded his head deeply.

       Brother Dimitri smiled widely. “This then is the brother of which you aregreatly concerned,” he said casually.

       Methos’ back erupted in chills at the timber of his voice. A northern accent, one he had not heard for centuries, but remembered instantly. An accent that spoke of harsh mountains, unforgiving landscapes, unbearably cold, deep lakes, and warriorson horseback with bloodlust and conquest in their souls. He could imagine Dimitridressed in the hides of the curious herds they ran, a heavier beast than the antelopehe was used to slaying in the southern lands. “Their concern has touched medeeply,” he managed to say in reply.

       Brother Dimitri’s smile faded somewhat, and he creased his forehead. “The good Abbott tells me you have lived a life of isolation by your own volition, but haverecently decided to abandon it for the life of a scribe,” he said, repeating theAbbot's description.

       Methos held back the eagerness to speak the foreign tongue, keeping to the Latin they spoke in cloister. “That is correct.”

       Brother Dimitri sensed the unease and moved forward, closing the distancebetween the two quickly. “You would assist me tremendously, Brother Adam. Iattempt to counsel those in need in our brotherhood, and your experiences wouldadd  to my ability to heal others.”

       “How could I refuse such a noble and eloquent request?,” Methos said,swallowing hard. “But I have much work I must perform, and it could be difficult. . .”

       “Not at all, Brother Adam,” the Abbott broke in. “I am confident that ourvisitors will await the completion of your writing most patiently.”

       “We shall at that,” Brother Dimitri said, putting his hand on Methos’ shoulderand squeezing it gently. “I have heard that you are an accomplished scholar andartisan. Will you bless me with a show of your work?”

       Methos turned to Brother Sebastian, who swept his arm toward the door.“Please, by all means available. If there is some need in which I can assist, you maybut ask.” Brother Dimitri bowed to the Abbott his dismissal and nodded at the scribeas he exited. Methos followed him closely, head bowed. Brother Sebastian reachedfor him, and caught his eyes. He felt the need to speak to the young man, but simplysmiled.

       “Brother Sebastian, would you assist me?,” Methos asked quietly.

       “What may I do that Brother Dimitri cannot?,” he asked, reassuringly.

       “I would like dinner this night in my rooms,” Methos said, a faint smile coming to his lips. “For both of us.” He bowed and left quickly.

       Brother Sebastian looked down the hall after the two young men, Brother Adam hurrying to catch up with the visitor. He felt a twinge of emotion as the smaller man offered his arm to his scribe, who eagerly took it. No, he thought, could that have been. . .

       “Brother Sebastian, I believe they do not require your assistance walking to the library,” the Abbott reminded him gently.

       Brother Sebastian shook his head and turned to his brother. “But you did not just witness a miracle, and I have.”

       “I have had faith all along that Brother Adam would accept counseling,” the Abbott replied calmly.

       “That was amazing, yes,” Brother Sebastian agreed. “But you did not witnesswhat I have just witnessed.”

       “Well?,” the Abbott said, growing impatient. He stood and walked to the door where the scribe still stood. He looked down the hall, but both men were gone. “I see the hallway is not paved in gold.”

       “It was but a moment ago,” Brother Sebastian said, sighing. “If you had just seen Brother Adam smile, as I did, you would know.”